Hearts of Darkness
by Aria de Plume
Summary: After the showdown with Jackson, Lisa grapples with the conflicting emotions she has towards the man who tried to kill her. Eventual L/J
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

And in the end, nothing was resolved.

Scars faded, wounds healed, but the lack of resolution made Lisa Reisert feel confused and incomplete. She spent a lot of time sifting through the contents of her memories, holding various items longer than others, and trying to figure out where they all fit. There were too many inconsistencies in Jackson's behavior. And for someone who liked order, the gray areas were too conflicting for her to process.

_He tried to kill me._

It was her new mantra. Whenever she found herself softening at the thought of Jackson, she would remind herself of his treachery until the inevitable flipflop: _But maybe he wasn't really going to kill me?_

She did a lot of reading about Stockholm Syndrome, then Lima Syndrome. She went to therapy and tried to put into words the jumble of emotions she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"This man tried to kill you, Lisa," her therapist would gently remind her.

"Yes, but you don't understand," she whispered. "There were moments I could tell…"

"Tell what?"

Lisa remembered the flashes of humanity. The genuine warmth she felt from him.

She said nothing.

"Why do you think you're still being watched," the therapist pressed. "The police have established Jackson went deep into hiding after he escaped."

Lisa didn't know how to explain that she _hoped_ she was was still being watched.

At night, she would catch herself drawing back the curtains and lingering a bit too long at the window. Old pajamas were replaced with sexy (yet tasteful) lingerie. She took extra care in her appearance and told herself it was part of the healing process.

"Is it possible you are clinging to the first person you've felt a shred of attraction to since the rape?"

"Maybe," Lisa said dubiously. "Or maybe I'm just as depraved as he is."

"You saved many lives that day."

"Then why do I miss him?"

_He tried to kill me._

"Perhaps what you need is closure."

Lisa paused.

"First I'd need to find him."

Her therapist sighed, closing the legal pad on her lap and leaning forward.

"And how do you propose doing that?"

The answer came to Lisa in a sudden flash, and she knew what she had to do.

"By letting him find me first."


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has R&R. I appreciate any kind of constructive feedback!_

_**Chapter 1**_

Lisa didn't _mean_ to lie to the police.

The day of the hotel attack, she and Cynthia had gone to a nearby bar to take the edge off. She bucked convention by ordering a Jim Beam on the rocks and then cursed when she realized she had inadvertently ordered Jackson's drink from the Tex Mex bar. It was the first in "little incidents" she would have. While Cynthia manically chattered about the day's events, Lisa sullenly swirled the ice cubes in her glass and thought about Jackson. Every time she licked her lips, a shiver would run down her spine when it crossed her mind this is what his mouth would have tasted like.

_Why am I even thinking like this? He's sick. I hate him._

By the time she made it back to her dad's house she was tipsy and confused. Law enforcement and agents immediately swarmed her.

"Miss Reisert, it would help this investigation if you could remember what you did with Jackson's phone," the officer said. "We swept through your house and tagged some items as evidence, but the phone is our best chance to find out who was behind the whole thing."

Lisa had shrugged helplessly.

"I'm sorry. The last time I used it was in the car I borrowed." She blushed. "Anyway the phone was dead."

The officer nodded and signaled for his counterpart to look closer at the car. They found nothing.

Days later, after countless interviews with both local police and the FBI, Lisa received word Jackson had escaped the hospital. Her reaction was eerily calm as the investigator explained they would have someone stand guard for her.

"If you'd rather, go ahead and check into a hotel," he said. "But we don't think he'd be dumb enough to come after you."

"I'm fine," Lisa assured him. "I want to stay at my house."

_Maybe he will be dumb enough to come here._

But Jackson did not come for her, and she felt a disappointment she couldn't explain.

With a manhunt underway, the issue of the missing cell phone was put on the back burner, and the updates from officials were less frequent. They had come to a dead end, and Lisa was losing her mind. She kept busy as a way to escape her never-ending thoughts. She cleaned her condo from top to bottom, and when there wasn't a speck of dust left, she moved on to her father's newly-repaired house. The plants had been neglected while the contractors were fixing the entrance, and it was while Lisa was wresting with a planter that she discovered the phone hidden amongst the large, browning fronds. It must have flown out of the car when she hit Jackson's cohort. She bit her lip and considered her options. Her first instinct was to call Agent Braun, but a stronger, more curious, inclination caused her to pocket the phone and hide it in her closet.

There it sat for three months—until today.

Driving to the store to buy a replacement charger felt downright criminal, and Lisa found herself excessively looking over her shoulder. She took a roundabout way home (in the event she was being followed) and left the phone to charge in a shadowy bedroom. Lisa was a jumble of tension as she watched the little light blink in the darkness. She had to distract herself.

_Dinner. Let's make dinner! _She was wildly hyper, ransacking the pantry and cupboards for a meal she couldn't possibly eat. Her stomach churned against the food as a frission of nerves set her body on edge. Abandoning the charade, she flicked through a magazine, her eyes boring through the walls to where the phone was charging. After an hour (possibly one of the longest of her life), she ran into the bedroom and wrenched the phone out of the socket. Sixty percent battery life. Just enough.

A giddy sort of thrill was rippling through her veins, and the feeling in her gut began a little kick line. She clutched her stomach in annoyance and stared at the phone. A sleek, gunmetal Nokia stared back at her. Holding her breath, she held down the power button and watched the screen come to life.

Turning on the phone felt risky enough. Lisa had seen enough movies to know there was a possibility it was being tracked. What would Jackson's employers think if they saw the signal blip across their radar? At this point, Lisa wasn't sure if his old agency was protecting him or looking to retaliate against him for the botched Keefe job. A vision of menacing assassins bursting into her living room gave her momentary pause, but she saw no other way out.

Emboldened, Lisa ran her thumb over the contacts button and gave it a defiant jab. An empty phone list was all she got for her effort. _Shit_. Remembering his conversation on the plane—"Work, for the last time"—Lisa eagerly scanned through the features until she located his recent calls. This time, she was rewarded with a phone number.

A sharp, metallic taste filled her mouth, and she realized, with horror, the last time her adrenaline surged like this was when Jackson was hunting her down in her childhood home. Setting the Nokia gently on the couch, she buried her head in her hands and felt the thrumming of her heart through her temples.

The conflicting emotions were back in full force. This was _not_ fear. This was something more perplexing. Something worse.

Butterflies. She was getting fucking _butterflies_ at the thought of being one step closer to finding him. It was so shameful that she couldn't even imagine telling her therapist about it.

"It's not _excitement _over seeing him," she told herself. "It's making that bastard pay for screwing up my head." She glanced around the empty room, eyes sweeping over the dirty dishes in the sink and a stack of old movies on the coffee table. "Screwing up my head and making me talk to myself like a crazy person," she added darkly.

She abandoned the phone on the sofa.

_I can't do this until I can get my emotions under control._

Lisa laid on her bedroom floor and practiced the breathing exercises Dr. Kohler had taught her. Once her heart rate had resumed a normal pace, she resolved to sleep on the phone issue and make a sound decision in the morning. It was too much to handle at the present. She spent the rest of the evening in bed, reading a thriller she had borrowed from Cynthia. It was around 11:00 when she decided to resign for the night.

The phone was weighing heavy on her mind and she spent a few fitful hours tossing and turning. At three a.m., her eyes popped wide open and she sighed loudly. Unable to keep up with the pretense of sleeping, Lisa threw off the duvet and padded into kitchen. She set the kettle on for tea and made way for the living room. It looked like another night of falling asleep in front of the TV. Not that she minded. The combination of a snack and late-night movie always worked to cure her insomnia. It was then her thoughts circled back to Jackson. How many times had he seen her play out this exact scenario? She wrapped a chenille blanket around her shoulders as her skin broke out in goosebumps. She could almost feel his eyes on her now…

"Stop."

Her voice was stark in the silence of the room, and she felt somewhat startled. She hadn't even meant to say anything. Shaken, Lisa went back into the kitchen to tend to the whistling teapot and relaxed in the midst of preparing her cup of peppermint tea. She blew on the steaming mug and took a few scalding sips as she retreated towards the television. The stack of old movies beckoned to her, and she carefully set the hot cup on a coaster to peruse them. On the very top was a copy of "Belle de Jour." Lisa dropped the DVD and covered her mouth to suppress the scream that threatened to wake the neighbors. This was not her movie. This had not been here earlier in the evening. Her eyes shot to the phone still innocently resting on the couch. The battery power was now at five percent.

Someone had been in her house tonight, and she was certain that someone was Jackson.


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry if you received an update for a new chapter. I made some edits and had to replace this chapter with a new version. Thank you, reviewers for your kind words and encouragement! _

**Chapter 2**

It was then the cell phone began to ring.

Lisa grabbed it roughly and stared at the caller ID. It was a blocked number. _What am I doing? What would I even say? _She was tired. Tired of being scared. Tired of being a victim. It was time to take control of the situation again. She clicked the phone to life and sat n silence. Dead air greeted her back.

Pressing the phone against her ear, she heard soft, even breaths. A minute ticked by. Maybe even sixty minutes ticked by. She had lost all concept of time, and the anticipation was causing her palms to sweat. She wiped them on her pajama bottoms and concentrated on regulating her breaths. They were strained and shallow. She could only imagine what the person on the other line was hearing. Then he spoke, filling her ear with a familiar timbre that made her give a little gasp.

"Well, well."

She involuntarily closed her eyes as he chuckled low and throaty in her ear. Naturally, her vocal chords decided to seize up at that very moment. She gave a little cough.

"Cat got your tongue, Leese?"

_Shit_.

"No."

"Good," his voice hardened. "Then tell me what you're playing at."

"Playing at?"

"Ah, I see you've acquired a parrot," he mocked. "Tell me, what is this nonsense you've been doing, Lisa. I've been hearing things."

"Like what?" Her eyes darted around frantically. "Jackson, where are you right now?"

"I don't have time for games," he said impatiently. "This isn't a horror movie. I'm not hiding in your closet."

Lisa's head automatically swiveled towards the hallway closet. Grabbing her hockey stick from under the couch (she had taken to hiding weapons around her home these days) she pressed herself against the wall and braced herself.

"The movie," she spat. "I know you were in here."

"Did you like that?" he was amused. "I've been told I resemble Pierre Clementi."

"Psychopathic stalker? Sounds about right," Lisa said even though she secretly agreed.

He laughed then, an involuntary sound that surprised them both. Jackson was quick to collect himself.

"You turned my phone on," he said in an odd voice.

"I did," she acquiesced.

"Imagine my confusion when I realized the signal was coming from your house. Mind explaining this desperate ploy for attention?"

"Fuck you."

"I'm sorry?" The amusement had returned to his voice. "An interesting proposition but a strange one considering the circumstances."

"It's not a proposition," she said through gritted teeth. "It's what I've been wanting to say to you since the incident."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Not any better," she admitted. "I hate you."

"That goes without saying."

"Shut up," she nearly shrieked. "Let me say what I need to say and then you can kindly fuck off."

"Oh, there won't be any of that," he assured. "You've seen to that. I'm not the only one who noticed a shiny beacon coming from your place. You've created a situation. One that I will have to clean up."

Lisa edged along the wall, her eyes trained on the closet again.

"You mean finish what you started?"

Jackson paused a beat.

"No. Believe it or not, I'm not trying to kill you."

"I don't believe it," she snarled. "Trust me, Jackson, I'd kill you if I had the chance."

"I'd like to see you try," he said smoothly. "In fact, maybe we could arrange something."

There was a faint rustling in the closet. Lisa tensed and gripped the stick harder.

"You said you weren't in the closet," she whispered.

"I'm not," he reassured. "But I never say my guy wasn't."

She was so enraged she couldn't speak. Stomping towards the closet, she jerked it open and a reedy-looking man looked at her in surprise. Before he could move or say anything, Lisa cracked the hockey stick against his head and kicked him in the groin.

"Fuck!" the man yelped. She turned to run, but his hand flew out and grabbed her by the ankle. She fell hard, clipping her head against the corner of a console table. A burst of stars temporarily blurred her vision as she felt the man pinning her down. Though her mind said fighting was useless, she refused to go easy. She flailed her arms wildly and screamed in earnest while the man attempted to sedate her with what appeared to be a soaked cloth. Lisa thrashed uselessly against the chemically-laden rag until she was overcome and quieted into sleep. The man climbed off her and caught his breath.

"It's done."

Jackson smiled broadly.

_See you soon, Leese._


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Somewhere in the recesses of Lisa's mind there were voices. Two actually, one high-pitched and excitable and the other modulated and murmuring. She couldn't hear what the people were saying, but it was obvious there was a bit of a disagreement going on. The voices rose and made her throbbing head pulse in pain. _Ugh, did she leave the television on again?_

Her eyes fluttered opened, and she squinted at the two blurry figures hovering over her.

"Nice of you to join us, Leese."

Her vision sharpened the figures into focus as the events of last night came rushing back. She would have loved to slap the self-righteous expression off Jackson's face, but she had more pressing matters to tend to. Namely her headache and cottonmouth.

"Water," she rasped and Jackson cocked his head towards the door.

"You heard the lady, Martin." The man called Martin glowered at them both and reluctantly left the room, grumbling under his breath. Jackson sat at the foot the bed, his weight causing Lisa to shift slightly. He looked her over without expression.

Lisa rubbed her bleary eyes. "Where am I?"

"You're in my home. My bed, actually." Lisa frowned at his suggestive tone and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Now that she could see clearly, she took in her surroundings. A large and airy master bedroom filled with sleek, modern furniture, a huge balcony, and framed black and white photos scattered about. If she were a decorator she would call this room Modern Zen.

"What, no screaming?" Jackson asked drily. "No accusations of wanting you dead?"

She gave him a scathing look.

"You would have already killed me," she said. "But instead, you brought me all the way here and tucked me into your comfortable bed." Lisa ran a hand over the expensive Egyptian sheets while Jackson watched on warily.

"Why am I here, Jackson?" He stood up, tucked his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, and strode towards the balcony. He stopped short and stared at the expanse outside. Lisa noticed the creases on the back of his white button up and her eyes strayed to the slope of his back. She wondered if he owned a pair of jeans or even sweatpants. The thought was so bizarre she had to smile.

He turned to look at her, and she was quick to settle her features into something more neutral."You're here because you turned on that cell phone," he finally said. "You got what you wanted right? My attention?" Lisa fumbled with her hands and averted his gaze. He shook his head. "That's what I thought, but I'm still trying to understand."

"What's to understand?" she shrugged. "I had some things to get off my chest."

"I get that part," he said. "But Martin has reported some interesting behavior..."

Lisa jolted to her feet and lurched at him unsteadily. "You've been spying on me? How dare you after all you've put me through!" She came at him and peppered his chest with weak blows. Jackson grabbed Lisa's flailing wrists and pressed her against the wall with his torso.

"You wanted me to spy on you," he hissed. His breath was hot against her neck and she struggled against his firm grip. "Dressing in lingerie and standing at the window sends a pretty obvious message, Leese."

She reddened at the words and stopped fighting. Of all the things he could say, this was possibly the worst.

"That wasn't for you," she denied.

"Then who?" he growled. "For random neighborhood weirdos? Or that Federal agent?" Lisa's eyes flickered back towards his face.

"Are you…jealous?"

He released her wrists in shock, and they sprang apart, both disheveled and breathing hard. Martin barged into the room holding a tall glass of ice water and grimly setting it on a dresser.

"Will her highness be needing anything else?" he groused.

"No, that's all," Jackson said, waving his hand dismissively. Martin rubbed his arm woefully and shot Lisa a meaningful look as he turned on his heel. "Don't mind him," Jackson said. "He's still upset that you got the best of him. I got to hear all about his battle scars." Lisa involuntarily smirked as Jackson picked up the glass and brought it to her.

"Good," she said. She drank deeply and handed him the empty glass. "Now tell me about the situation I caused."

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "Do I really need to spell it out?"

"I have my guesses," she admitted. "I'm assuming your employer also noticed the cell phone signal."

Jackson cocked his head slightly. "They thought about killing you."

Lisa's startled eyes met his.

"Don't play dumb," he sighed. "They didn't understand your intentions. All they knew is that you would possibly hand the phone over to the Feds."

"But I wouldn't!"

"And therein lies the question of the hour. Why?"

"Because," she stuttered. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters because I had a hunch," he said. "And by going with my instincts, I've saved you from yourself. But if I'm mistaken, then it was all for naught." Lisa rubbed her palm against her temple in a circular motion.

"Jackson, stop talking in riddles. Just spit it out."

"Fine. My employer thought about taking you out, and I was able to talk them out of it."

"I'm surprised to hear that," she said.

"You shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't I? The last time we were together, you were trying to kill me." Jackson winced at the words.

"I snapped, okay? I'm not a killer despite what you think—at least not directly. I was under a lot of stress. It was supposed to be my last job." Lisa stared at him in surprised and tried to process this revelation.

"My conscience had been nagging me around the time I was watching you," he continued. "And your disgust towards me on the plane didn't make it any easier."

"Why should you care about my opinion?"

"Because you were only echoing what I had already been thinking. All I wanted was to get it over with and move on with my life," he said bitterly. "Now, that's impossible. With the bungling of the Keefe job, I've been put on notice to make it up to them."

Lisa chewed on her thumbnail and stared at his hunched form. He looked so miserable that she wondered if he could possibly be telling the truth. He had to be, right? She was alive, for starters, unless this was some twisted game to gain her trust and kill her when she least expected it. She didn't know what to think.

"Jackson, earlier when you said you had a hunch. What did you mean?" He looked at her evenly.

"You must have some type of Stockholm Syndrome," he said simply. "Why else would you desire my attention and want to protect me?"

"I don't have that," Lisa faltered. "It's complicated."

"I understand why you would be perplexed," he said. "But it's either Stockholm Syndrome, or you actually have feelings for me." Lisa gaped at him, and he met her expression with equal bemusement. "Exactly, the thought is absurd, isn't it?"

"Okay," Lisa said. "Let's say that I do have that. What does that mean to you?"

"It means you will be a valuable asset to me and my employer."

"What—what do you mean?"

"The only reason you are alive right now is because my employer thinks you are loyal to me," Jackson said. "And if you want to continue to be alive then you will help me."

A cold shiver of dread ran down Lisa's spine.

"Help you what," she whispered.

"Help me with one last job."

Lisa swallowed and stared into his crystalline eyes. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No," he said woodenly. "You don't. Now please, let's dispense this rigamarole. We have terms to discuss."


	5. Chapter 4

_A/N:_ _Hopefully future chapters won't take so long to write, but working cramps my style, so I can't make any promises unless I win the lottery. Here's hoping._

_**Chapter 4**_

After hours of negotiation, Lisa was surprised by the calm she felt within. Jackson had gone on and on about what would be expected of her, and she had simply listened, nodded, and sometimes voiced an objection. She was strangely at peace. Words—they were just words coming out of his mouth. They meant nothing to her.

_This must be what it's like to be tortured_, she decided._ You say anything to make it stop. _

To Lisa, these words would only matter when the time came for action, and some small part of her believed she would be able to get out of it.

_Add delusional to the list of mental disorders I'm developing_, she thought wryly. "So do we understand each other?" Jackson interrupted.

"Yes," she said dully. "I'm to be your faithful puppet and do whatever necessary to get the job done."

"And if you don't?"

"Then I'll be killed at the hands of your employer."

He nodded. "I think you're ready. Come on, you probably need to eat."

Lisa followed him into the kitchen, a stainless steel affair accented in sultry reds and black trim, and watched him rummage around the refrigerator.

"Are you actually cooking something?" she asked in surprise.

"In a manner of speaking," he replied as he sat rice vinegar and yellowfin tuna onto the glossy countertop.

"You're making sushi?"

"Clearly."

"But when did you find the time to learn this? I can barely scramble eggs."

"I spent some time in Kyoto," he said.

"Doing what?" she pressed. "Or do I want to know?"

"Why do you ask questions that you already know the answers to?"

He gave her a pointed look and scooped out a rice cooker, dumping the sticky grains into a bowl. She bit her tongue. Never had she seen Jackson look so relaxed, save for the time she "made the call," but this was something different. He had rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, and his hair fell over his eyes as he poured vinegar over the rice.

"Pretty elaborate," she finally said. "It would have been easier to order a pizza."

"You know, Leese, you really need to work on your eating habits."

Watching him delicately roll sushi, a thought caused Lisa to furrow her brow.

"Nachos."

Jackson glanced up from a sheet of nori. "I'm sorry?"

"You said the bar had the best nachos in the airport."

"And?"

"What was that about?" she asked exasperated. "You obviously don't eat Tex Mex on a regular basis." She watched Jackson slice the tuna with deft hands.

"Can't a guy share a drink with a pretty girl before he ruins her life?" He wiped the blade carefully and sat it out of her reach. Lisa scoffed at the gesture.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "I have to be careful around you, Reisert."

"You knew," she said. "You knew I would eat up that whole girl-meets-boy scenario."

"I didn't know," he objected. "I figured you would shoot me down like you did every other guy who crossed your path."

"Then why even bother? Was it part of your plan?"

"No," he admitted. "Establishing contact with you early on was a risky move."

"So it just happened to play out like a romantic comedy."

"Pretty much," he said. Lisa fell silent as he carefully cut the rolls into pieces and plated them with a flourish of ginger and wasabi. She accepted a serving, and they ate in companionable silence standing at the counter. Lisa swirled a knob of the spicy horseradish into a dish of soy sauce and dredged a piece of sushi into the concoction. Jackson watched the proceedings with disapproval. From looks alone, they easily could have been any couple sharing lunch. A normal couple who would go on to do normal things—things that didn't involve assassination. Lisa felt the familiar pang of confusion and unease roil through her body. She flicked a piece of rice off her plate in annoyance.

"Problem?" Jackson asked.

"You mean besides you screwing with my head all of the time?"

He chewed a piece of sushi thoughtfully as if he were truly assessing the question.

"Seriously, Jackson. What are you doing? Because if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to impress me with this whole making sushi bit."

"Maybe I was," he shrugged. "You have such a skewed perception of me. Why wouldn't I want to change that?"

"If my perception is skewed it's because 'Jackson Rippner' has been a lie from the moment I've met him."

"Like I told you on the plane," he said impatiently "I've never lied to you."

"No, not blatant lies," she admitted grudgingly. "But you misled me into thinking you were a decent person. That time we shared at the airport bar was the closest thing I've had to a date in years, and you ruined it." He looked abashed and hesitatingly placed a hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry about that," he said. "I didn't realize it would lead you on the way it did."

Lisa jerked her arm away from his touch.

"Lead me on? More like devastate me."

"Come on, Leese—"

"No! I'm not being hyperbolic, Jackson. You had to know the shock would be greater once I found out this guy, who I _thought _I liked, turned out to be a ruthless asshole who would threaten me to get what he wanted."

Jackson's eyes grew cold, and he looked as though he wanted to strike her.

"I already told you," he said through gritted teeth. "This was my last job. I had to pull it off, or they were going to kill me. I couldn't let personal feeling get in the way."

"Maybe that would have been the decent thing to do. Let them kill you instead."

"You honestly wish that happened?"

Lisa couldn't bring herself to speak.

"I didn't think so," he said. "I must have really done a number on you. And for the record, I enjoyed the time we shared before things got rocky. Even when I knew you were lying to me. It was the first time, in a long time, I felt normal."

"So I was just a casualty. Someone you used to escape your current situation."

"Maybe, but I didn't look it at that way," he said. "I felt compelled to have a moment with you before you found out the truth about my intentions. I had gotten to know you over those eight weeks, and I genuinely liked you as a person. You represented normalcy and decency to me. Two things I was missing and desperately craved."

"Do you ever wonder," she asked haltingly. "What would have happened if the situation _had_ been normal?"

"No, and you shouldn't either," he said. "There's no point in thinking 'what if."

"Maybe that's my problem. I can't let go of the hypothetical."

"You eventually will," Jackson promised her, and he finished his sentence in silence.

_Because by the end of this, you may hate me more than you ever thought possible._


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Lisa didn't know what she had expected—James Bond, perhaps—but life as a "manager's assistant" was more bureaucratic than she ever imagined. Instead of high-tech toys, there was the matter of signing non-disclosure agreements and assurances she would receive training under Jackson's tutelage.

"You're not going to be thrown into the field immediately," he told her. "There's a protocol we have to follow. I know you're capable, but there's too much at stake for the both of us."

"Am I ever going to meet these people you—I mean, we work for?"

"These aren't people you want to meet. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Lisa considered his words and didn't feel the least bit of trepidation. After all she had been through, nothing could faze her anymore. It had taken years to view herself as a survivor instead of a victim. She realized, with a start, much of it had to do with Jackson. Or rather, her triumph over Jackson when she prevented the assassination. It was no wonder she was muddled in the head over him, she thought. It was disconcerting to simultaneously feel rage and gratitude when she looked at him. Lisa cleared her throat.

"So when do we start?" she asked

"Immediately," he said. "I'd tell you to clear your social calendar, but we both know there's no need."

She glowered but bit her tongue.

"I'm going to need your evenings, weekends, and any other free time you may have. In fact, can you take some days off work?"

"It's convention season, so I doubt it," she said. "But I'll see what I can do."

Her manager wasn't thrilled with the request to take time off but finally agreed to let her work part time at the hotel and to do administrative work from home. As a result, she found herself spending a lot of time with Jackson. So much that his condo was beginning to feel like a second home, something that didn't go unnoticed by either of them.

"Lisa, you can't leave your personal items here," he sniped upon the discovery of her sweatshirt mixed in with his laundry.

"It was an accident," she said. "Anyway, it's your fault for keeping me here so late."

"We don't have a choice," he said. "There's too much to cover.

"I know," she yawned. "I'm a zombie at work these days. Everyone thinks I'm shacking up with a secret boyfriend."

"Aren't you, in a sense?"

"No," she snapped. "My secret boyfriend wouldn't get on my case about a stupid sweatshirt, and he would let me spend the night once in awhile. That forty five minute drive home isn't helping my sleep deficit."

"I told you before. We have to keep things professional."

"Yeah, I heard you," she groused. "But it's not like I'm going to jump you in your sleep, you egomaniac. I'd be perfectly content snoozing in that guest room."

"Better not to take that chance."

Two weeks went by, then three. Jackson touched on everything from first aid to how to pass polygraph. They went shooting, and true to his word, he was a lousy shot—Lisa was pleased.

"You're a natural," he said grudgingly. "If anything, you could teach me a thing or two."

"Funny, I thought I already did that." She smirked as she thought back to their standoff. Jackson chasing her through her childhood home. Her shooting him in the chest. He caught the look on her face, and his eyes flashed warningly.

"Play nice, Leese," he chided. "If I remember correctly, it was dear old dad who bested me; not you."

Lisa swelled in fury and turned on her heel. "Whatever you need to tell yourself. I could shoot you now, you ass, then we'd see who's laughing."

He watched her fiddle with the gun in agitation and slowly edged towards her. She sensed his movements yet kept her back fixedly towards him. She didn't care anymore. She was sick of suppressing the true nature of their relationship while he preached lessons in trusting your partner. Theirs was not a partnership built on trust. There was too much history. Too many betrayals. There was no way this would work.

"Everyone would blame you," she continued. "Putting a gun into the hands of a headcase is a death wish."

He was behind her now, so close that her hair fluttered under his breath. She braced herself for whatever onslaught he was planning and was shocked when he wordlessly snaked his arm around her.

"What are you doing?" she sputtered as he reached around to gently pluck the gun from her hand.

"You're not a headcase," he murmured. "If I've learned anything about you these past few weeks, it's that."

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she cursed her stupidity. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of him, but she was so tired, both mentally and physically. The long days and nights were taking a toll on her. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she cautiously leaned into his solid form, half expecting him to jerk away. He didn't. They stood there for a long time while a myriad of uncomfortable thoughts raced through Lisa's mind.

Clearly, Jackson was throwing her a bone, she deduced. So not only did she appear weak but also desperate. She reluctantly pulled away and faced him.

"I'm sorry," she said awkwardly. "This won't happen again."

"It's fine, Lisa. I'm accustomed to your female-driven, emotion-based dilemmas." The corners of his mouth quirked as he spoke, and Lisa couldn't help but feel grateful at his attempt to lighten the mood. That didn't mean she could look at him properly, though. Her face flushed in embarrassment as she recalled the warmth of his chest and how her cheek had brushed the stubble on his face.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Jackson focused his attention away from her and towards the revolver in his hand. He popped the chamber open. It was empty.

"Kind of difficult to shoot me without bullets, Leese," he said drily.

She regained her footing and feigned a look of innocence. "Who said I wanted to shoot you?"


End file.
